Missing Threads
by lynnki
Summary: How Pete figured it out, and why he didn't put up a fight. S/J. Chapter 4 edited for an obnoxious amount of typos.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Missing Threads

Episode tag/missing scene: Threads--yes, I know, beaten dead horse and all that.

Spoilers: Everything is fair game.

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money, not funny.

Rating: T for safety sake

Lengthy author's note: I've been reading fic for years and jotting down bits and pieces here in there for about as long…un-betaed so if its crap blame me. If its bad English, blame me, and if my sentences are run on and there's bad punctuation, you guessed it, blame me. For the record I hate, HATE, badfic, so if this sucks, please, let me know, and I will cease and desist. If you like it, let me know, and I'll continue. I have some thoughts of some other scences that will fit in with this…I think after this I'll take it back to the fateful meeting between Jacob and Pete—maybe not, we'll see. Anyway…

I've always wondered about Pete's "I wish I could believe this had something to do with your father…" line. I wonder what he saw and experienced to be so completely convinced Sam breaking it off had nothing to do with Jacob's death, that would actually cause him to say that to her out loud. I mean, we never actually see him see Sam and Jack together on screen (or Sam with the rest of her team for that matter), and short of his actions in Chimera, he never gets to really see Soldier Sam. So, this is what I think happened. Some missing scenes if you will, of Pete putting it all together.

And, as much as I'm a Sam/Jack kinda girl, I didn't think Pete sucked that much. I hated him b/c he wasn't Jack, and obviously totally wrong for Sam, but I don't flame him in this. So if you want to see him being made out to be this horrible person, you're reading the wrong fic. I mean, if I had FBI contacts and was dating someone involved in something obviously top secret, I'd probably call in a favor too. Possibly the stalking, tho I wouldn't blow a stakeout. That was just lame, especially with Pete being a cop and all. Lame. Shoulda known better. But, I'll blame the writers for that poor job of figuring out a way to get a guy in on Sam's secret life. That being said, I don't think I'm necessarily sympathetic to Pete in this, just writing a bit of what I think he might have seen. A lot of this is probably going to be Pete POV, tho not all, there will be scenes that he doesn't witness/take part in. I also take what is probably creative license with the timeline and when events take place—the break ups, the deaths, the descendings…blah blah blah…But enough of my babbling. Now, on with the show.

* * *

Missing Threads

The day of the funeral dawned unashamedly bright. He didn't recall slipping back to sleep, however, he did know Sam had woken up at an hour no human should ever see, and if the cool sheets beside him were any indication, she hadn't come back at any point thereafter. Giving himself a mental shrug, and attempting to ignore the little voice whispering that she was avoiding him, he rolled out of bed and shuffled down the hall in search of his wayward fiancé.

"Sam?" He called out softly.

"Kitchen."

And there she was, sitting at the table, already showered and perfectly ironed into her class As (sans tie and jacket), bent over the morning paper, legs crossed at the ankles, sipping on a mug of coffee. Eyeing the pot and its lack of contents, he figured she'd been at that particular activity for some time.

Coming up behind her, being careful not to wrinkle her, he passed a hand quickly, but compassionately, across her back and sat down.

"You didn't get much sleep last night." A statement he told himself, not an accusation.

She eyed him curiously, responding cautiously. "No, I didn't. I couldn't get my brain to shut off."

Fair enough. "Thinking about your dad?"

Deciding that he wasn't angry, Sam let out a deep breath and continued with the conversation. "Oddly enough, no. I was brainstorming about a project I've been working on. Had me too keyed up to sleep. I wanted to get it down." Indicating, with an upward nod of her head, a legal pad he had not previously noticed. It looked nearly full with what he'd come to recognize as her own particular brand of short hand amongst hurriedly scrawled out equations—the meaning of which he couldn't even begin to guess at. Not for the first time, Pete felt as though he was so far out of his league he wondered how he ever gained admittance to the ballpark, let alone the chance to actually play in the game.

Despite their looming wedding date, he couldn't help thinking the jury was still out on whether or not he would actually get the girl. Pulling out of his less than heartening thoughts, he resolved to keep things light. Accusations and suspicious words were the last thing she needed right now.

"That's all from last night? One brainstorming session? I suddenly feel fairly stupid, and not a little like I'm a relatively unmotivated idiot." Oh yeah, smooth Shanahan.

Lips upturned in a small, and quite obviously forced, smile she responded, "Lack of sleep and carpal tunnel syndrome. General O'Neill calls them the occupational hazards of being a genius. Daniel and I never hear the end of it. The fact that I also happen to be a career officer who's been on the galactic front line for the past 8 years, has him reasoning that I should be spread across the galaxy in several bloodied, and rather exhausted pieces."

There it was, the crux of the whole matter. She'd barely been home since her father died, and he knew, he _knew _much of that time was spent in the company of one Jack O'Neill, and not all of it on base, and not all of it with the rest of her team. Pete knew she had never been unfaithful, nor would ever be. O'Neill was her commanding officer, and she was honorable to a fault, but it didn't take a trained detective to know that there was something between them—a fact that he had resigned himself to early on, but only recently a fact that began to worry him. Infatuations are one thing, love is quite another, and despite the diamond she wore, he was beginning to suspect—

"General O'Neill says that, huh?" He winced at his own tone, which had lost the previous levity he had so carefully injected, and now carried a definite dose of accusation. After all, if it looks like a duck…

Throwing him a hard look—one he realized must belong to Lt. Colonel Carter, as he'd never seen such a thing cross Sam's face, making him suddenly exceedingly glad he wasn't an alien on the wrong end of her P-90—Sam stood, emptied the rest of her mug into the sink, and headed down the hallway to her room. "We need to leave in a half-hour to get to the mountain on time. You should get ready." Thrown flatly, _commandingly_, over her shoulder.

It seemed to him, he wasn't the only one realizing he should have never been called up from the farm team to play in the majors. Though, admittedly, she might not put it in those terms.

And surprisingly, for the first time, it crossed his mind that his fiancé was a soldier in addition to being a (hot) astrophysicist. A soldier he knew he had never truly met, and probably never would. A soldier that had looked death and the eye and made it blink—more than once.

A soldier that Jack O'Neill knew intimately.

Definitely out of his league.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Notes: I apologize for the long delay in getting another chapter up on this. It took me awhile to decide which direction to go in--where my first flashback would land us, and I decided to go back to the beginning, which meant a thorough reviewing of Chimera. I'm still not sure If I'm happy with what I've come up with, but I suppose, it'll do. On with the show.

* * *

After what could only be termed an abbreviated breakfast, Pete returned to Sam's bedroom before heading to the shower. He caught sight of a picture taken back during the first couple of weeks they had dated. Walking over to pick it up, he thought back to their first meeting, and really he should have known then. Should have known that no matter how hard he tried, regardless of any feeling she may have for anyone other than him, that this thing with her, wasn't meant to be forever.

SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1

Set up. Set up by her brother no less. Had she really sunk to this? Admittedly she had been out of the game for a while, but set up? By her brother? A brother she maybe saw twice a year at that. What was she thinking?

Okay, so she knew what she was thinking. She was thinking it was time to move on. She was thinking she needed to at least try to have a life outside of that mountain, and you know, on _this_ planet.

She was thinking she needed to at least entertain the idea that there might be someone, somewhere that was just as suited to her as she thought Jack O'Neill to be.

She was thinking—

"Sam? She turned toward the voice. There was a man standing there, "Sam Carter?" She nodded, a small smile lifting her features, and the-man-standing-there flashed her a rather large and brilliant smile, gracelessly thrusting his hand toward her. "Hi. Pete Shanahan."

She was thinking he's cute.

Not cute as in "hot" cute, but cute as in "cute" cute. God, next she was going to be saying that she "like-liked" him. Get a grip, Carter.

Vaguely she realized she was still shaking his hand, and he was still smiling that large, brilliant, and now she realized, somewhat goofy grin. _Oh_-_kay_. Right. Say something Sam.

"It's great to meet you."

"Likewise." He said, continuing to shake her hand, all the while thinking that Mark Carter had a hell of a talent for understatement. Pretty, he'd said. Major in the USAF, he'd said. Bit of a science geek he'd said. Never, at any point in their acquaintance, had he mentioned that his sister was a drop-dead-gorgeous-legs-up-to-her-armpits blonde. Granted brothers didn't tend to use such strings of adjectives when describing their sisters, however, couldn't Mark have at least scrounged up a picture somewhere? Prepared him just a little better? Guys like him, just didn't get girls like her. Not in _this_ reality anyway.

"Uh—" he started, dropping her hand at long last. "So, um, I figure the best way to cut through this rather painful awkwardness that's beginning to settle is to plow through the usually tedious getting to know you questions as quickly as possible." At this she lifted her brows, and he imagined her to be wishing he would just get on with it so they could end this torture.

"Well, um," he began awkwardly, "Mark gave me the basic rundown, which wasn't much and consisted basically of 'good looking genius who's following in dad's footsteps as a major in the USAF working out of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex' in, what was it? Deep space—"

"Radar telemetry." She supplied mechanically.

He quirked a wry smile, "How come I get the feeling that's not what you _really_ do?"

"Possibly because you expect life in the air force to be a little more exciting than analyzing every pulse, flash, and tremor detected in the vast amount of deep space that's out there." She bantered, with a wry smile of her own. Well, two could play at this game, he thought.

"Possibly, but I get the feeling that the deep space thing is a well-rehearsed cover story."

"Well, if that's the case then either I'm an awful liar, or that cover story needs a lot, and I mean a _lot_ of work."

"Uh-huh. So, can you give me any clues as to what you _actually_ do?"

"Not unless I want to get slapped with a court martial—"

"I knew it!" he interjected.

"—and be stripped of my rank for divulging top-secret classified information to a civilian." She was now sporting a full-blown smile. She may not be able to _actually _tell him that the deep space thing was utter bull shit, but she could at least have some fun "making up stories" to try and put him off balance. And, he seemed to be enjoying it, if the return of the goofy grin now accompanied by a bit of a chuckle were anything to go by.

"Okay, so no talking about the secret life of Major Sam. Well, Mark also told me you're a Ph D., so what about Dr. Carter? "

"Well, now she's fair game—just a boring theoretical astrophysicist who spends lots of time in the lab, thinking up impossible proofs and running simulations. Really it's all incredibly tedious."

"See, I'm beginning to lean towards you being a bad liar, rather than having a bad cover story, you're positively gleaming talking about your work, trying to convince me its boring—definitely a bad liar."

"You've discovered my weakness. Nice work detective." she said, continuing their banter with a rather large smile of her own. "I've never been able to lie my way out of anything. Ask my brother. I was constantly getting in trouble growing up for tearing apart our household machines and electronics, amongst various other misdemeanors."

"We'll have to work on that. So, honestly, working on anything interesting?"

"Well, as my title suggests a lot of my work is theoretical, though I'm always keeping an eye toward translating it to the practical—wormhole theory, quantum physics, energy beam and weapons technology, holographic imaging…"

"Wait, wait, energy beam and weapons technology—you mean like phasers and plasma beams and stuff like that?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"You're not bull-shitting me right now, are you?" A shake of her head and an amused closed-lipped smile is her only response.

"Wow, very Star Trekky. I'm officially impressed. Any chance of me getting 'beamed up' by a man named Scottie in the foreseeable future?"

"Funny, but no. We're much closer to getting the phaser thing right. Unfortunately, De-molecularization and reintegration of living organisms is a bit trickier than focusing large amounts of energy to blow things up. Though honestly, it's the reintegration that really gives us fits."

"Okay, so if I'm interpreting what you just said correctly it's kind of like the kings men trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together. Only in this case he's not falling off the wall, you're pushing him off."

"That's honestly the first time I've heard it put that way. But, yes. Pretty much just like that. What about you, any secret life I should be wary of?"

"No, nothing top secret about being a detective in Denver, and nothing nearly as exciting as turning science fiction into just plain science."

"Well, like I said, its really just a lot of time in my lab, thinking up the impossible."

"Uh-huh, sure."

Pulling back to the present, a humorless huff of air escaped him. Impossible indeed. He should have gotten out right then, because even then, he knew, deep down, he didn't have a chance. Well, as he thought then, at least not in _this _reality. Huh,_ this_ reality. He wondered, not for the first time, if wormholes were the only mystery of space-time that she had managed to uncover and thoroughly demystify. Somehow, he doubted that they were. She was a galactic superhero, after all. Placing the picture back to its rightful place, he headed off to the shower. He really needed to get a move on if he was going to accompany her to her father's memorial at the mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I apologize for the extraordinarily long delay in getting another chapter up on this. If you are still reading...thank you! I appreciate it. If you are new to this story...thank you, I appreciate it!

Life has been very very crazy. But, I have some vacation time this week, so I might actually get another chapter up! We'll see. No promises!

~Lynk

* * *

The drive to the mountain was silent, save the phone call Sam made to Daniel, letting him know that they were on their way. There were a few snippets about the Tok'ra, some weird ass alien funeral ceremony thing, then the silence descended and lasted throughout the security checks which were punctuated only by the mandatory salutes and yes ma'ams.

The silence then continued on the ride in the elevator to sub-level 28, an arm's length stretching between them, and Sam—or perhaps he should say Colonel Carter, as he was relatively sure that Sam was pushed firmly down and out of the way that morning in the kitchen—holding herself stiffly "at ease." He was pondering if Colonel Carter was someone he could at least grow to tolerate, as he had a sneaking suspicion she would emerge every now and then when he was stupid enough to put his foot in it as firmly as he had this morning.

Stepping off the elevator, he was greeted with a nod from General O'Neill, who then turned to Sam. Transforming from hard-ass general into a human with a simple turn of his head.

"Colonel."

"Sir." And with that one word the Colonel melted away, revealing all the hurt, sadness, and insecurity Pete had been trying to get a glimpse of for the past week, but had continually come up empty, despite his best efforts trying to cajole some emotion from her.

"You ready for this?" the General asked.

"As I'll ever be, sir."

A small smile. A nod. "Let's get this show on the road then."

A look passed between them in that moment. A look he'd seen them share before, not in life, but captured for all eternity in a picture. A picture she used to keep on her dresser. A picture that went away after that first night they'd spent together—a picture that he should have paid far, far more attention to.

SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1

It was late, or early, depending on one's perspective. Sam was in the bathroom, and he had risen from the bed to make sure his legs still worked.

On top of her dresser he spotted some photos. He recognized Mark in couple and then there was one featuring a large black man wearing a fedora low on his brow, his arm slung across the shoulders of smaller (though admittedly no less impressive) white man wearing glasses.

Another featured what looked to be a slightly younger Sam Carter crouched on the ground across from a man with graying hair. Between them was a large sheet of crinkled paper that, from the campsite setting, he assumed was a map of some sort. Both were sporting black t-shirts, combat boots and olive green pants, their dog tags gleaming in the firelight.

Whoever the photographer was, he (or she) had captured the pair looking at each other, a broad smile on Sam's face. There was something else in her eyes that Pete had no desire to speculate on. He didn't want to start questioning her at this point, standing there hoping for something more than a whirlwind romance that would be doomed as soon as the distance between Colorado Springs and Denver stretched between them, especially if he started pressuring her for answers about former (potential?) lovers.

"Whatcha doin'?" came her voice, softly, and in far closer proximity than he expected.

He startled. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to snoop. I just noticed the pictures, thought I'd take a look, see if I could garner any insight on the mysterious Major Carter." He cleared his throat. "Uh, Who are all these guys?"

He hadn't even heard her come back in the room, he thought. She had to be special forces. He really wasn't buying the deep space telemetry line. He had some contacts in the FBI—

"Ah." She said with a smile. He shook himself back to the moment. "Well, those two," she started indicating the picture with the fedora and glasses guy, "are Murray and Daniel. Members of my team."

Oh-kay.

"And him?" he asked, indicating the picture of her and graying-hair guy.

A look that he could really only be termed as slightly constipated (he'd only just begun cataloging her looks after all) crossed her face.

"Oh, that's just my C.O., Colonel O'Neill."

Was it just him, or did that casual tone seem a bit rehearsed?

Just keep it light Shanahan. Don't blow it. "Where are you in this picture?"

A shrug. "Maneuvers probably. I don't really remember."

Yeah, this woman really can't lie. Still, keeping it light.

"That bad liar thing is shining through again." He teased.

Shrugging slightly, smiling coquettishly, "Yeah, well, if I told you where we were I'd have to kill you." She deadpanned.

He let out a chuckle, "Ah, the mystery of the dead boyfriends doesn't seem so mysterious anymore." She playfully slapped him, and smiled.

"Stop it."

Despite the return of the rather enjoyable form of banter they had developed in their acquaintance, he was still curious about 'the look' in the picture.

"What rank were you here?" If the question seemed out of the blue, she took it in stride.

"Captain. That picture was in our first year as a team. Why?" She asked, brow furrowed.

"Just curious." That could explain it. A young captain enamored of her experienced commanding officer—a colonel to boot. He was sure she wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last that it had happened to. Her career seemed to be her life, and from what he had garnered from Mark's stories of "growing up Carter," he didn't think she was the type to engage in illicit affairs that would effectively put an end to any and all advancement, and potentially to the career she clearly enjoyed.

"Let's go back to bed, huh?" She said, breaking through his thoughts, shooting him a look full of promise.

And, just like that all speculations on the current object of his affection harboring inappropriate feelings for her CO faded to nothing. He was the one here, after all.

"Sounds good to me."

SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1 SG1

Seeing that look again, however briefly, made it abundantly clear to him that holding something in your arms didn't necessarily make it yours.

And neither did big shiny diamond rings.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It's been brought to my attention that my flashbacks aren't flashbacky enough. I don't want to italicize because when I have a flashback, its generally the length of the chapter, and I'd find it annoying to read 1,000-1,500 words of italicized lettering. If ever you see something like…

SGI SGI SGI SGI

in the text of a story, it means we are flashing back.

Sorry for any confusion.

This is my first ever attempt at writing anything even remotely resembling a shippy moment between Sam and Jack. Be kind.

Look ma! Two updates in two days! Thanks for the reviews. Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

Jack O'Neill never really got the whole food after death…thing. Loved-one just die? Here. Eat. Sure, why not? Daniel could probably explain it all with charts, and powerpoint slides, and a lecture in anthropological studies depicting the various cultures of earth, but that was one briefing he'd just as soon avoid.

Where the heck was Carter anyway? She'd disappeared about ten minutes after arriving. Not that he blamed her; he was feeling a bit claustrophobic himself. The place was crawling with enough brass to outfit a sizeable marching band. Not to mention he was about ready to squash her brother. He could only imagine how Carter was resisting the urge. Well, he thought, that's probably why she disappeared. Can't go killing her brother in a fit of homicidal rage at her father's wake. Mark Carter just didn't seem to understand the words: "Need to know."

Taking another circuit around the room, he caught sight of her through a window; if only he could find his way to that particular balcony. Note to self: never let Walter book a room and write the guest list for any event again. Ever. Unless it was in honor of, or for something that he absolutely hated, and therefore wouldn't be attending.

Her back was to him as he stepped out onto the balcony, so he softly cleared his throat to announce his presence. She turned to look at him.

"Sir." she said softly with a nod, and returned to her pensive observation of the horizon, arms crossed across her front.

He walked up beside her, bending at the waist and resting his elbows on the balcony's rail so that his hands were dangling over the ledge. He cleared his throat again, "So, Carter, how ya doin?"

"I'm fi—"

He lifted a hand in warning, "Ah. None of that. This is me here. That 'I'm fine' crap might fly with your brother, Daniel for awhile, Teal'c for admittedly less time, and apparently Pete for an extended period of time, but I'm not going to let it go, so you might as well just be honest now to avoid my pestering you until you are."

At this, she takes in a lungful of air and lets it out heavily as she bends to mirror his position. With their upper arms touching she addresses the horizon, "Overwhelmed sir. I'm overwhelmed by everything. Dad. Anubis. Daniel impersonating death—again. I know I said I was doing good, and I was; still am in some respects but..." She shrugs, shaking her head slightly, "and Pete is trying to be helpful and supportive, I know he is, but my silence is beginning to drive him crazy, but I just—I can't—I don't know if he's…" she trails off, at a loss.

He watches a bird gliding across his field of vision before speaking. "Look, Sam." this gets her attention, and she looks at him. He can't even remember the last time he used her given name. Sometime well before Pete, he thinks, probably well before the armband thing if he's honest, "I know you refused before, but if you want some leave, you have it. As much as you need."

She nods once. Crisply. "Thank you sir, but all things considered, I need to be at work right now. If only to avoid being alone."

"Well, you could actually you know, leave the Springs for your leave. Go to Denver with Pete, visit your brother." It was a familiar shtick for them, except the Pete part. He was pretty sure he was still in denial inwardly, despite his seeming acceptance of the situation outwardly.

Despite giving him a small smile—really a rather lifeless upturn of her lips, she doesn't follow the script. "With how pissed he is at me right now, Mark's place is out of the question. It'd be a war zone. He wants to know what really happened, and right now I don't know if I would be able to keep up the classified line for very long. As far as Pete—things are pretty screwed up right now. At least for me. I don't think it would be the wise thing to do at the moment."

He bumps his shoulder lightly against hers, a laughter that is incongruous with the conversation dancing in his eyes, "Feel like fishin'?" And, she thinks, of everything they've been through at each other's sides, such simple words were among the heaviest ever spoken between them, not to mention—

"I think Miss Johnson might take issue with that, sir." And General Hammond, and the air force, and probably the president she thinks.

"Probably not." He says, and she raises her brow in question. Jack's attention turns to his hands. "She uh, broke it off." He stands, looking at her wryly. "Seems to think I have," he raises his hands to gesture quotations around his next word, "issues."

She actually smiles at this. Not full wattage, but its something, "Well, you do. But, so doesn't everyone."

"Almost _exactly_ what she said." Deep breath, here we go, he thinks. Probably not the most appropriate time to get into this, but this thing had stayed in the room too damn long already. "Apparently there's one particular issue that she wasn't all that willing to deal with."

"Oh?" Sam inquires innocently, standing to look at him properly, one hand still resting on the rail. Too innocently he thinks. "What was that?" _Way_ too innocently.

He grimaces slightly, squaring his body to hers, putting his hands in his pockets, signature slouch in place, "Look, Carter." he starts. "That day you went to my house, before Kerry came out of the house, before Jacob—"

"Sir—"

"Carter. Please. I know my timing sucks, but I need to know. Washington is talking about some different opportunities for me and if I'm going to make a decision I just…"

She turns back toward he horizon, running frustrated hands through her hair. Then worries her lip a moment to screw up her courage before speaking. "Do you ever still wonder what if?" she lets out in a rush.

"What if what?" He plays dumb. He know it won't fool her, but it's what he does.

Sam responds with an exasperated sigh, and when she speaks there's a manic edge to her voice, "What if one of us wasn't air force? What if the za'tarc thing never happened forcing Hammond to give us a talking to making us both back off? Not to mention that damn entity thing. What if the war with the Goa'uld hadn't gone on this long? What if…just _what if_?"

He is silent in the wake of her mini rant, looking out to the horizon once again, unable to meet her now blazing eyes.

"Look nevermi—" she begins.

"Every time I look at you." He cuts her off, softly as he turns his gaze back to her.

She looks at him, stunned. Her eyes go glassy with tears she refuses to let fall, and when she speaks, despite her soft tone, he can hear an undercurrent of anger. Of hurt. "Then why did you just—when I told you Pete asked me to marry him, you brushed me off, why?"

"You were fishing for a protest from me."

"Yes, I was." The manic edge was back. "I needed to know if I was crazy. I needed to know if I was imagining what I thought my heart was telling me. Why didn't you say anything—why…" Rubbing her hands through her hair again she turns away, muttering something that sounds distinctly like 'you damn prick' to his ears.

He keeps his voice soft, all too aware of the room full of officers behind them. "Because I thought it was an impossible what if. Because you needed to make up your own mind. Because. Because I wanted, no, I _want_ you to be happy. I thought and still think you could be happy with him."

"So why tell me this now?"

"Because the war with the Goa'uld is over. Because things are changing. It doesn't seem as impossible."

She waits a beat before speaking, her tone ironic, "You know, my dad had us pegged." At this Jack raises a questioning eyebrow. "Before he died—," she answers, "he said not to let rules stand in my way."

"Dad always was a smart guy. Always liked him." She smiles. This time there are definitely teeth involved.

"So, tell me. That day I went to your house—if we actually had the conversation I intended to have—if Kerry wasn't, and if dad hadn't…?"

"We'd probably be in Minnesota by now." This time when she smiles, there's full blown wattage.

"Fishing, sir?" She banters coyly.

He nods, "Damn straight."

"_Just_ fishing?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you're getting married next month."

"Sam?" A voice comes from behind them, and they startle, turning to see Pete standing in the doorway. "Things are clearing out in here, Mark is getting ready to head back to the airport."

"Oh, right. Sorry, lost track of time." She answers, and begins to follow him in.

Jack's voice stops her, "Carter?"

She turns too look at him, hand resting on the door frame, "I'd make sure my spare fishing pole was in good working order if I were you."

And with that she leaves him as he turns back toward the horizon, grinning from ear to ear.


End file.
